


Baby, We're Perfect

by sunspearing



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6002602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunspearing/pseuds/sunspearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa's change in career path doesn't make having a relationship with Ushijima any easier, but that doesn't mean he isn't up for the challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, We're Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> secret dating celebrities au for [zerojima](http://twitter.com/zerojima)! warning: very incredibly self-indulgent; cameos of people glossed over but feel free to guess who they are; otp is perfect aren't they //clutches chest

The moment the sound of the whistle melts into the air, and the ball has stopped bouncing on the floor like it is still feeling the force of the spike the ace had hit it with when Ushijima drove it down hard into the opponent’s side of the court, the crowd goes wild. Players decked in red and donning the national flag of Japan above their hearts shout and pump their fists in the air like a war cry. The ones at the bench have ran onto the court and jumped on Ushijima, patting him on the back and crying their praises at his winning kill.

The joy and utter satisfaction of the win renders the atmosphere in the stadium electric, and Oikawa stands with the crowd as they cheer for the win of the team, of their country. He doesn’t really know what comes over him next, making him squeeze his way through the seats and down the aisle towards the court. Maybe it was the surplus of happiness coming from everyone on his side of the stadium, or the familiar and heavily nostalgic feeling of a win overwhelming him, fuelling him to push through the crowd and head down onto the court where the national team is currently huddled. The world seemed to have been padded by cotton, muted and blurry around him as his feet lead him forward.

Oikawa meets Ushijima’s gaze the moment his foot steps on the lacquered flooring of the court, and his eyes are bright as he pushes past his fellow players, but the smile on his face directed at Oikawa is brighter. Oikawa’s cheeks hurt from all the smiling, and he almost finds himself booking the few stretches between him and Ushijima. He’s about to throw his arms around the ace’s neck, hot and sweaty he might be, when he jolts back to reality.

The loud sounds bleed back along with his consciousness, and with the shouts and cheers Oikawa manages to discern the loud shutters of cameras firing. He suddenly remembers where he is, who he is, who _Ushijima_ is, and the reality of the situation sinks in. Oikawa looks at Ushijima, who looks like he suddenly just realised the same thing he had, and froze in front of each other.

And then, National Team Ace Ushijima Wakatoshi leans over and gives Japan’s Model of the Year Oikawa Tooru the manliest bro hug a person could ever give another, all in the middle of the court, in front of the whole stadium and media present.

 

 

 

Sometimes, Oikawa wishes he wasn’t such a successful and prominent model in the industry. With his face and body plastered on every other billboard and changing screen flashing ads, it was hard not to know just who exactly he was. Fame and glamour always came with a price, and it was always at the expense of his privacy and personal space. He couldn’t spend an extensive time with his family without compromising their safety, and taking morning walks is absolutely out of the question (he attempted it, once, and ended up booking it back to his flat with a rabid crowd of fangirls running after him).

Being constantly in the limelight has considerably hindered his personal life. But that doesn’t stop him from trying to hide a relationship from the public’s eye. Although, he should have probably chosen to fall in love with someone lowkey. Someone who could have just been an ordinary salaryman, or a pie maker, or a ramen shop owner.

Anyone other than the ace of Japan’s Volleyball Team, Ushijima Wakatoshi: former loathed enemy, and now the Love of His Life.

Whatever, it’s not like it matters. If he’s going to be falling in love with someone and keeping their relationship under layers of thick, mediaproof wraps, it might as well be with the best. And Ushiwaka-chan is nothing but the Absolute Best.

It helps that the media knows that he and Ushijima had known each other during their middle school and high school days, albeit the great animosity their _acquaintanceship_ had been. They know that Oikawa eventually went to the same university as Ushijima’s, and assumed that they had casted rivalries aside and became good friends. It was alright, then, for a prominent model such as Oikawa to be seen with prodigious athlete Ushijima from time to time, chalking it up to friends catching up with each other when time permitted.

It makes hiding their real relationship easier, and all the more exciting.

 

 

 

Their relationship had started where Oikawa’s sports career ended, his knee finally breaking down to the point of no return, a repercussion of the times he pushed his body to the limits in order to do better, to be greater, to become one of the athletic geniuses, he keeps facing insurmountable obstacles.

He had overwhelming potential and his body too young. The unimaginable strain and stress he had put himself into was taking its toll by ending his career short.

Ushijima was there when his knee broke down. Ushijima was there to catch him when he landed after a jump and his damned knee gave way underneath him. The pain consumed his being like molten fire suddenly replaced the blood in his veins. It was Ushijima that had carried him to the infirmary, held him while he cried his body dry.

Ushijima was the one that sat next to him during the three days he had to stay at the nearby hospital, the one that contacted his parents and Iwaizumi because Oikawa couldn’t utter a single sound without it coming out as a broken sob. Ushijima was the one that was there when Oikawa felt like he was far away, like his heart had cowered into the deepest recesses of his ribcage, creating more distance between him and the people around him.

But Ushijima hadn’t left him alone. If anything he became more adamant in overseeing Oikawa’s recovery, despite the news that the setter would never be able to play professionally again. He had ended before he even started.

He had been there when Oikawa had wished for the universe to just swallow him whole and turn him back into dust, and he was there when he had built himself back up from the material of stars and woke up rebirthed and ready to conquer the world again like only he, the Grand King, knew how. In the event Ushijima had helped Oikawa turn into a better person, watched him break like he was made of hollow bird bones only to rise with a new spine made of confidence and steel.

He had encouraged Oikawa silently, pushing him forward into creating a new niche for himself, a future he had thought he had been robbed off along with his ability to play volleyball.

And along the way Ushijima had realised that this new Oikawa was no different than the Oikawa from before, the force to be reckoned with on court. The only difference now is that it isn’t the volleyball court he’s a challenge in, but in the entirely untapped world of entertainment and fashion Ushijima rarely dappled in except for endorsements and national team features. However, it still brought them back to each other, even if they are completely different people walking different paths.

Oikawa calls it serendipity, Ushijima doesn’t really know what word to use to describe it.

But that doesn’t stop him from going back to Oikawa like a moth to a flame, because no matter how bright or what kind of fire burns inside Oikawa he’s still a beacon all the same. Ushijima had pursued him again, none the wiser, but it was different now.

Oikawa had seen him for who he is, not as a competition, not as someone to overcome, not as Ushiwaka-chan who made him feel inferior all those years in middle school through high school. Instead, he finally saw him as Ushijima Wakatoshi, the one who unknowingly and gently pushed him forward to strive to be the best he can be, the one who saw his potential and fuelled him to become one of the best setters in the prefecture to date; the one who patiently waited for him to realise these things all along.

So really, on one fine spring day, when Ushijima was walking with Oikawa towards their only shared class, and asked Oikawa, “Would you like to go out on a date with me this Saturday? After my game?” the only answer Oikawa thought of answering Ushijima with was, “Yes.”

 

 

 

Maybe one of the reasons why Oikawa had chosen modelling was because of his fondness for dressing up. Growing up with a much older brother that was away half the time, and given a doting and mischievous older sister in return, he was subjected to many games including dress up. He had several home videos of him pretending to be walking down a runway, compiled with clips of him practising how to play volleyball out in their backyard. Oikawa remembers how fun it was to try on different clothes, the different textures of the fabric and their colours influencing his overall mood when wearing the articles of clothing.

If anything, his sizeable following back in high school had contributed to his decision of pursuing modelling after the abrupt end of his athletic career due to the breakdown of his knee. He has some regrets, sometimes, especially when Ushijima is away for matches and leaves him by his lonesome, laying in his bed and wishing he was with his boyfriend, playing with him instead, _setting_ for him instead.

But then again, if he hadn’t gone into modelling, he wouldn’t be able to take a photo of himself in front of a full-length mirror, decked in a thin, loose white shirt and pair of skintight leather pants, in the safety of his dressing room. He makes sure the photo shows how the skinnies cling to his legs (and accentuate the curve of his ass), the sharp angle of his collarbone as the neck of his shirt hugs the slim slope of his shoulders.

He takes another photo, one of his face this time, looking up at the camera from the dark smoke of his long eyelashes, pink tongue poking out of his lips just so, smile coy enough to pop the dip of his dimple on his right cheek.

A few fiddling and the two photos are sent to one Ushijima Wakatoshi.

_[10: 09 AM] Oikawa: For my photoshoot today ヾ(=^▽^=)ノ_

It takes a few minutes before Ushijima replies, and Oikawa opens it while his stylist fiddles with taming his hair.

_[10: 13 AM] Ushiwaka-chan: I’m glad you made it to work safely. Everything is going well, I presume?_

Oikawa feels a nerve twitch at his temple.

_[10: 14 AM] Oikawa: Thank you, Ushiwaka-chan ❤ And yes, the photoshoot is going swimmingly! Don’t you have anything to say about the photos I sent you?_

Oikawa knows Ushijima knows better than to reply to him anything but what he wants to hear. He’s kind of conceited enough to be fishing for compliments from his peers, most especially from his boyfriend. He may also be entertaining an ulterior motive, given that Ushiwaka-chan would go with the flow.

_[10: 15 AM] Ushiwaka-chan: Well, you look handsome as always._

His face heats up at the compliment, however Ushiwaka-chan is not picking up on his signals. Oikawa has to stop himself from pouting in case he catches the attention of his stylist and his manager lingering around.

_[10: 15 AM] Oikawa: You flatter me, Ushiwaka-chan, but look at the leather pants I’m wearing! What can you say about them? (◠‿◠)_

_[10: 16 AM] Ushiwaka-chan: They look very tight. And impractical. Can you even move properly in those? I can never understand fashion, as you know._

Oikawa had admittedly complained about Ushijima’s fashion sense several times, reprimanding him on his extensive collection of exercise clothing and severe lack of more presentable articles, save for the practical polo shirts and button downs that seem to be assigned a specific day to be worn. If Oikawa hadn’t made it a habit to buy Ushijima clothing deemed more socially acceptable and in-style, his boyfriend would probably still be dressed like a high school coach or a middle-aged dad.

_[10: 17 AM] Oikawa: I can walk just fine!! o(≧o≦)o_

_[10: 17 AM] Oikawa: Wouldn’t you want to take them off? （　´∀｀）☆_

Seriously, Ushijima ought to have gotten the hint by now. Taking a sip from his water bottle, he taps on the screen of his phone, waiting for it to light up with the right response he’s looking for. He gets caught up in a conversation with his manager about his schedule when his phone finally vibrates.

_[10: 23 AM] Ushiwaka-chan: Seeing as they’re so tight, I’d expect you’d need help taking them off so, yes._

This time, Oikawa definitely groans out loud.

Modelling is definitely a blessing to him. But having a boyfriend inept in fashion definitely has its downsides, especially when said lover doesn’t understand the art of it enough to sext him properly. Stupid Ushiwaka-chan.

 

 

 

Ushijima is allowed breaks in between his matches with his sponsored team and when he’s not training for the Olympics, and sometimes those said breaks coincide with the gaps in Oikawa’s schedules following a big shoot that requires him to go overseas. So in the one time their breaks eclipsed, Oikawa had jumped the gun and booked the both of them a five-day getaway trip around the Caribbean. It’s conveniently far from the prying eyes of the Japanese media, and however prominent of an athlete Ushijima may be, they’d still be in a place where the chances of them being recognised would be slim to none.

In all, Oikawa thinks it’s a brilliant idea.

They board the private yacht separately, Oikawa arriving first. He's already changed into some very stylish teal board shorts and a striped, oversized tank top (which he may or may not have borrowed from Ushijima’s closet back in Japan), donning a wide brim sun hat out on the deck when Ushijima arrived via a motor boat, escorted by several waitstaff.

Oikawa flies down onto the landing, the thin translucent robe he has over his clothes billowing in the wind.

“Yahoo, Ushiwaka-chan! You're finally here!” Oikawa waves his hand exuberantly, flush high on his cheeks from the sun and the happiness. It has been a while since he last saw his boyfriend, and seeing his ridiculously uptight posture makes everything feel like it's back to normal. He launches himself into Ushijima’s arms, the other anticipating his moves all too well. Smirking, he asks, “Did you miss me?”

Ushijima’s mouth is still tight as he answers, “Yes, I have missed you. You look well.” Ushijima reaches a hand up as if to brush Oikawa’s fringe out of his bright eyes, but seems to stop himself at the last minute. Instead, he asks softly, “Are you sure we’re supposed to be acting so freely like this?”

Oikawa pouts. “Of course we can! I don't think any of these people truly know who we really are, and if they do, they're sworn to secrecy to not compromise our privacy.” Oikawa leans at the side of Ushijima’s embrace, and looks at the nearby waitstaff watching them. He says in English, “This whole trip is a secret, yes?” He winks cheekily, and watches as they fumble with Ushijima’s luggage before nodding at him jerkily in reply.

Oikawa looks up at Ushijima smugly, his eyes playfully telling his boyfriend, _see?_ Ushijima’s brow twitches before he leans down to press a kiss on Oikawa’s smiling mouth. He hears a gasp from behind them, and he pecks Oikawa’s lips once more before pulling away. “Fine.”

“Alright, now come on! The sun deck is beautiful and I want you to see it! We should take a photo and send it to my parents. You can send a copy to your father too, if you like.” Ushijima lets himself be pulled away by his bright boyfriend, terribly and hopelessly in love.

 

 

They follow Oikawa’s extravagant itinerary of jet skiing, parasailing, snorkelling and island hopping, mixed with some leisurely swimming and soaking up rays on the sun deck, Ushijima getting ordered to lather sunscreen on Oikawa’s gradually tanning skin.

They go inshore to tour around, amassing souvenirs for their friends and family, Oikawa taking multitudes of photos to send to his parents and Takeru. Ushijima had sidetracked them to a pub and watched a football game on the telly over the bar, and amidst watching Oikawa shouting and cheering along with the crowd, face flushed pink with the alcohol, he felt the tension unwinding from his body, fully enjoying the luxury of their time off from their respective careers to indulge in a vacation together.

He kisses Oikawa a few seconds after Juventus scores their winning goal, and the taste of sangria is sweet on his boyfriend’s tongue.

They spend their last afternoon back on the sun deck, huddled underneath the thick complimentary beach towel provided by the yacht. Ushijima is talking to his manager on his phone about his return flight tomorrow, with Oikawa nuzzling his forehead against the curve of his shoulder. Oikawa tilts his head up to nip at Ushijima’s chin, hitching a smooth milky leg around Ushijima’s waist to pull them closer to each other.

Oikawa is pink and sun-kissed, glowing and beautiful under the golden light of the setting sun, and Ushijima is finding it harder to pay attention to what his manager is saying.

In the end Ushijima prematurely ends the call, opting to place it back down on the nearby table so he can wrap his fingers around the firm curve of Oikawa’s thighs, pressing concaves into them as he pulls the model on top of him. Oikawa’s smile presses against Ushijima’s mouth, and it feels like the world is in his hands.

 

 

 

“Ushiwaka-chan, I swear, your eyebrows are going to give us away.”

Oikawa’s voice is muffled by the thick scarf covering the lower half off his face as they stand outside the restaurant they just exited. His arm is looped around Ushijima’s as they walk, and he looks up at his boyfriend’s face. Unlike Oikawa, Ushijima is donning a face mask, rectangular-framed glasses, and a baseball cap to disguise himself. He’s wearing one of his numerous practical jackets and some worn out jeans, looking as normal as one could be in order to blend with the crowd. If only Ushiwaka-chan’s eyebrows weren’t so thick and unique.

They had gone out to one of Oikawa’s favourite restaurants near his flat because he’d been craving their katsudon, and Ushijima had been the good boyfriend that he is and agreed to accompany him. Oikawa himself had taken the liberty of dimming his presence, grudgingly shrugging on one of Ushijima’s large hoodies to cover enough of his form and hair, topping it off with his scarf to ensure maximum coverage from prying paparazzi eyes, and his thick prescription glasses. It would be too suspicious if he wore sunglasses at night, anyways. Albeit being just a short walk away, they couldn’t risk being sighted.

So here they are, walking the short stretch back to Oikawa’s apartment, Oikawa’s fussing filling the night air.

“I don’t think I could be recognised just because of my eyebrows,” Ushijima refutes.

His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at Oikawa, and he laughs. Lifting up his free hand, Oikawa presses his fingers at the crease between Ushijima’s eyebrows and massages them flat, prodding at the skin until they ease up.

“They will if you keep trying to make your eyebrows converge like that. They might not recognise you, but they'd still notice you with how expressive they look.” Oikawa continues to poke at Ushijima’s eyebrows before sliding his fingers down Ushijima’s cheek. Oikawa smiles mischievously up at Ushijima, mouth barely visible from the cover of his scarf, but Ushijima can tell from the appling of his pink cheeks and the twinkle of his bright eyes.

Ushijima stops them under a lamppost near an ally, pulls down his face mask with one hand, and Oikawa’s scarf with the other, and leans down enough to press a soft kiss to his beautiful boyfriend’s smiling mouth. Their glasses clink together at the little proximity, and Ushijima almost misses the usual brush of Oikawa’s eyelashes on his cheek, but the quiet sound of contentment he hears makes up for it.

Oikawa’s eyes are still closed when Ushijima pulls away, brushing his lips against the other’s one more time. Ushijima watches Oikawa’s cheeks redden with a blush as he opens his eyes to look up at him, and they get so lost in each other they almost forget where and who they are.

But they don't. And neither do the passersby.

 

 

 

On the afternoon of the runway collection Oikawa’s scheduled to partake in, the news break out.

His phone has been pinging nonstop the whole time the stylists were working on him, and the rush of the preparations rendered him too busy to check on his messages the moment they register. Some of the models behind and around him are starting to shoot him looks, and reckons it must be because of who he is; he is a bigshot model, after all.

But what broke him the news came in the form of his manager storming in through the backstage door, VIP lanyard swinging around her neck like a noose and looking slightly livid. Oikawa is released by the stylists, declaring him perfect and ready to get suited, just in time for his manager to make it to him.

“What is the meaning of this?!” she hisses, her hands shaking as she taps furiously on her phone before shoving it near Oikawa’s face so he can see what she’s talking about.

“Wah, Mayu-chan, seriously, don't you think it's too early to be so angr--” Oikawa doesn't get to finish his sentence; instead, he makes a grab for his manager’s phone, holding it to his face so he can get a closer look.

Projected on the shiny screen is a photo of two buildings toned in silhouettes, but the main focus is the couple standing in the space between the establishments, illuminated by the yellow light of the lamppost shining down on them like a spotlight. The image shows the couple midkiss, shadows falling over their cheeks and clothes, but the head of curly brown hair of one of the men is unmistakable.

Turns out it isn't Ushiwaka-chan’s eyebrows that does them in, after all.

“I--what are you implying, Mayu-chan?” Oikawa asks quietly. Maybe he could shrug this off somehow, owing it to the poor lighting that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't him.

“Don't play dumb with me, Oikawa. That's not the only shot they got. There’s no use denying it.” Oikawa’s manager leans over and taps at her screen. On the thumbnails below, Oikawa sees just how many incriminating photos there are, like they were taken several frames per second during his and his boyfriend’s little midnight tryst.

Oikawa swipes through them, shaking his head. Most of the images of the couple are vague, like it could be just two people that bear resemblances with Oikawa and Ushijima. However, after the nth swipe, Oikawa’s thumb freezes on the screen.

If the other photos weren’t proof enough, this was. The shot was just right, the light rendering both the faces of the couple visible. Ushijima’s eyes are still shadowed by the bill of his baseball cap, but the dimpling of his left cheek isn't, and anyone who has seen enough photos or videos of the national athlete could tell exactly just who he was. Oikawa’s face is entirely recognisable now, lit up like that, and his stomach turns the longer he stares.

They've been found out.

 

 

 

By the time the fashion show had ended, and Oikawa has been ushered into his car by his manager and the help of several huge bodyguards, the entirety of Japan has probably learned of the apparent relationship status of two prominent celebrities in the country. The sheer amount of media personnel that were waiting for and immediately bombarded him the moment he exited through the backstage was evidence enough.

His phone still hasn't stopped pinging in his pocket. As the driver pulls the car out of the driveway slowly, Oikawa brings out his phone, pressing the home button. It lights up and the lock screen is filled with message notifications, mostly from his acquaintances and work friends, some from photographers and stylists he's worked with--the people Oikawa deemed unworthy to have known of the relationship he and Ushijima have. But then again, there's no use hiding it if it's out in the open, right?

There's one text from Ushijima though, and it's the only message Oikawa opens.

_[9: 58 PM] Ushiwaka-chan: Hey, are you ok?_

It was sent an hour ago, but it does its purpose all the same. A small smile makes its way on his face, his fingers tapping on his phone screen to reply.

_[11: 00 PM] Oikawa: Tired, but I’ve felt worse, Ushiwaka-chan (￣▽￣) Are you worried about me? Where are you? Are you home? I need a hug (￣^￣)ゞ_

Oikawa feels better knowing that Ushijima worries about him, although the relief disappears as fast as it came when he realises that this situation not only affects him, but his boyfriend as well.

If anything, Ushijima would face more of the repercussions what with him being a national athlete, and being found out that he’s in a relationship--with a man, at that--definitely complicates things. Oikawa has entertained these thoughts before, way back before he decided to date Ushijima seriously and exclusively, and one of the reasons he had on not getting in a relationship with the man was because of the possible implications on his sports career. It was one of the main reasons why they agreed on keeping their relationship hush hush in the first place. Oikawa sighs tiredly, and types out another message.

_[11: 05 PM] Oikawa: What about you, Ushiwaka-chan? Are you alright?_

_[11: 06 PM] Ushiwaka-chan: You don’t have to worry about me, but I am concerned about you. I think it’s better you head to my place instead of yours, it’s much safer because of its undisclosed location with the media. I’ll wait for you there._

_[11: 06 PM] Ushiwaka-chan: And Tooru, please take care._

Oikawa’s eyes mist a little as he reads through Ushijima’s texts, feeling his concern over his well-being echoing in the white bubbles that appear on their message thread. He’s tired from his runway schedule and trying to dodge the paparazzi, and he’s aware Ushiwaka-chan is as well because he had practice since morning and knows it ended well into the night, but here his boyfriend is, making sure he’s alright and taken care of. It comforts him somewhat, gives him the hope that they can get through this.

_[11: 08 PM] Ushiwaka-chan: Also, Tooru? I love you. See you soon._

 

 

 

Oikawa’s manager lets him go after he agrees they have a meeting the next day, along with Ushijima and his own manager in order to discuss some plans on how they’d clear the news about them, and how they’d go about addressing the issue. Ushijima had been waiting by the door and given Mayu his word, offering a curt nod and a promise they’d work everything out the next day. Ushijima ushers Oikawa inside his house with a hand on his back, and Oikawa looks over his shoulder and gives his manager a look that he hopes assures her he will be ok in Ushijima’s company. She gives him a wan smile before turning away.

The moment Ushijima had locked and bolted the door he pulled Oikawa by the hand and into his arms. Oikawa stiffens at the sudden gesture, somehow totally unlike Ushijima, but definitely something he would do at the same time. Ushijima, for how much Oikawa claims how dense and unable to read the mood he is, he definitely knows just when Oikawa needs substantial shows of affection. After all the years they've been together, Ushijima has managed to figure out some of the elusive aspects of his beautiful boyfriend. No matter how strong he seems, he'd always need a hug.

Oikawa sinks into the warmth of Ushijima’s embrace, and whimpers a bit. “We’ve been found out, Ushiwaka-chan.”

“Hmm, I know.” Ushijima reaches a hand up to run through Oikawa’s curls. They're stiff and dry from all the products they put in his hair for the fashion show.

“I didn't want them to know, Ushiwaka-chan.” Oikawa presses his face into Ushijima’s chest.

“I know.” He feels a patch on his shirt start to dampen.

“This was supposed to be just ours, Wakatoshi.” His voice is soft and muffled against the fabric of Ushijima’s shirt.

Ushijima looks up at the ceiling and sighs. He pulls Oikawa closer. “I know.”

“This will change our careers so much.” Oikawa shudders against Ushijima as he takes a deep breath, like the air rattles through his rib cage. “I'm kind of scared, Wakatoshi.”

In truth, Ushijima is scared too. “I know.” He slides his hand from the top of Oikawa head to his soft cheek, cupping the curve of it to tilt his face up. “But we’ll get through this together, right? There’s no challenge we cannot overcome if we work together.”

This makes Oikawa smile, watery and beautiful. “You make it sound like we’re just heading to a volleyball match.” His eyebrows crease--a habit he seems to have gotten from Ushijima. “Do you really think we’ll make it?”

Ushijima presses the roughened pads of his fingers on the furrowed skin between Oikawa’s eyebrows and smoothens it out, much like what the other does to him so many times over. “Is it not just like a volleyball match? The premises are just different. The ball is on our court, and it's up to us to decide how we’re going to throw it back.” Ushijima leans down and presses a warm kiss on the soft stretch of Oikawa’s forehead, and murmurs against his flesh, “Knowing you and I, we’d be able to return it flawlessly, much like we always have.”

 _Had,_ because it’s been so many years since the last time they had actually stood on the same court and on the same side of the net, but with every game played and won Ushijima always makes Oikawa feel like it’s his achievement all the same. Oikawa closes his eyes, hands tightening around the fabric of Ushijima’s shirt. He smiles because Ushijima's still confident in what they have. It's probably time that he be the same. This is what they wanted, after all; Oikawa always did love a good challenge.

“So we have to devise a plan on how to overcome the enemy, like usual?” Oikawa predicts, raising an eyebrow much like his usual cheekiness.

“Hmm, maybe that can wait for tomorrow morning.” Ushijima pushes down Oikawa’s eyebrow with his thumb. “Pretty sure you need to be showered some attention first.”

“Ushiwaka-chan really knows me the best.” Oikawa laughs, pressing closer until he's flush against Ushijima’s chest. Smiling, Oikawa tilts his face up to be kissed.

 

 

 

When Oikawa wakes up, he's still snuggled against Ushijima’s side, the blanket pulled up to their chests. Ushijima is already awake and perusing his tablet, scrolling through it. Oikawa tilts his head to press a featherlight kiss on Ushijima’s skin to let him know he's awake.

“Morning, Tooru,” Ushijima greets, voice rough from sleep.

“Hmm,” Oikawa hums, his eyes closing again. “It's not a good one?”

Oikawa feels Ushijima press his face against the top of his head, his breaths ruffling his hair. “We’ve had worse.”

“Which means it's still bad.” Oikawa lays his head on Ushijima’s chest. “How bad is it?”

“Do you want to know?”

“I'll find out eventually, won't I, Ushiwaka-chan? Better I find out now with Ushiwaka-chan than with everyone else later.”

Ushijima lowers the brightness of the tablet while Oikawa sits up a bit against him, and once he's settled back down Ushijima shows him one of the series of articles his manager had forwarded him.

They scroll through the articles together, some just paraphrased reiterations of each other with the same tacked photo of their late night tryst. One article, however, stood out from the rest.

It had seemed harmless when it was mentioning how the model and the athlete went way back, being rivals since middle school and turning into teammates in university for a year before Oikawa had to retire early because of an injury. But then it had progressed to retelling events where they were both seen together, harmless lunch meetings and coffee hangouts, sometimes just the two of them, occasionally with other acquaintances.

Then there were photos of Oikawa in the crowd, watching matches Ushijima was clearly a crucial player of, including the one game where Oikawa and Ushijima had hugged. It still looked harmless at this point, but the article was starting to paint their relationship differently.

Next it had exposed were discrete photos of Oikawa, walking back home or to a nearby cafe, others of him leaving his agency’s building. They were edited side by side with photos of Ushijima in casual settings as well, going out for coffee runs or leaving the gym. The photos collaged together were those where they were obviously shown to be wearing clothes that look uncannily alike. Like how Oikawa was wearing a loose opened chambray shirt over a tank, the same exact shirt which Ushijima wore buttoned up and tucked into a pair of khakis.

Or a striped blue and black raglan shirt that stretched over Ushijima’s shoulder and chest, and which had looked like it draped better on Oikawa’s slender frame. Or how Ushijima seems to don a simple, silver chain over his neck, modest enough that it could be easily overlooked unless scrutinised. It was at a particular match where it had come out of its hiding from within Ushijima’s shirt and the ring that is looped in the chain glinted under the stadium lights. A zoom in of the ring is overlaid with the shot of Ushijima mid-jump, and it is placed side by side with a photo of Oikawa’s left hand holding a coffee cup, the shine of the white gold band on the model’s ring finger unmistakeable.

Then there were photos of Oikawa getting into the passenger’s side of a car, obviously fast, and the silhouette of another person rounding around it to get to the driver’s side. A frame shows the stark contour of Ushijima’s profile, making to open the car door to get in the driver’s side.

If the photos showing proof of their sharing clothes and promise rings weren't incriminating enough, then the remaining photos were. Oikawa gasps as he notices the image, recognises the yacht and the white of Ushijima’s collared shirt, and the gleam of the sun deck he loved so much. There were snaps of them jet skiing together, wading in the sea, Ushijima pushing a piece of shrimp past Oikawa’s lips with his fingers while they ate at the balcony, making out in the sun deck with the pebbles of Oikawa’s spine glistening under the sun.

There were even shots of them strolling hand in hand through the numerous stalls when they had gone inshore, sharing a beer and then a kiss in the pub they visited. They got photos of when he and Ushijima were playing around on the settees by the railing of the sun deck, Ushijima standing at the foot of the one Oikawa was laying on, succeeding frames of Oikawa pressing his feet on Ushijima’s bare chest, Ushijima wrapping his hands around Oikawa’s thin ankles and pulling at them, Oikawa reaching up and tugging Ushijima down to kiss him open-mouthed.

“I--” Oikawa turns his head towards the angle of Ushijima’s shoulder. “I don't want to see anymore.”

“Tooru,” Ushijima says, almost sadly. He clicks his tablet closed and places it on the bedside table so he can hold Oikawa better. Oikawa rolls away before Ushijima has the chance to wrap his arms around him.

“I'm going to make breakfast,” Oikawa interrupts, dodging the subject that's starting to thicken in the atmosphere around them. They'd have to talk about this soon, going to have a meeting with their managers on it too, but fuck if Oikawa can prolong it as much as he can.

He can feel Ushijima’s gaze on him as he puts on his underwear, and the skin of his nape prickles as he shrugs on the large black shirt he had pulled off of Ushijima’s body the night prior. He pads his way to the kitchen, his feet making sticky noises on the tiles as he gathers ingredients from the pantry and the fridge.

Oikawa is beating at some eggs for omurice when arms wrap around his waist, Ushijima’s warmth pressing up against him. Oikawa puts down the whisk, sighing as he puts his hands over Ushijima’s on his middle.

Ushijima sways his body side to side, taking Oikawa with him. Oikawa chuckles softly as he turns his hip, following with a step of his foot, and Ushijima follows. The kitchen is bathed in sunlight.

“We’ll become a cliché, Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa says, leaning into Ushijima’s embrace as the dance around the kitchen space. Their feet still make sticky patters on the kitchen tiles. “We’ll just become another number added to the growing statistic of athlete-model relationships.”

Ushijima presses a kiss to Oikawa’s neck. “I don’t really mind. We are still the best in our respective career fields, and we are together. Isn’t that what should matter?”

Oikawa laughs. Tilting his head towards Ushijima so he can brush his lips against his temple, Oikawa feels golden in Ushijima’s arms. Together, Oikawa feels like they could take on the world head on.

 

 

 

As it turns out, their managers decided that facing the press immediately after the news went on isn’t a good idea, especially with the FIVB Volleyball World Championship around the corner, and the ever-imposing prospect of the Olympics looming over him. Ushijima’s position on the country’s national team isn’t something they can take a chance on, and Oikawa knows in himself that he would forever hold himself responsible if Ushijima’s career suddenly goes downhill.

Ushijima had greatly protested, his face actually showing more emotions than their managers thought he was capable of in the span of their two-hour meeting. Ushijima’s points were reasonable, but there was a reason why he was in sports and not in entertainment, and Oikawa acknowledges it as he places a hand on Ushijima’s knee to placate him. Ushijima fights for them, wants what they have to stop being hidden from everyone but them, but even Oikawa knows the time isn’t now.

And that is how Oikawa finds himself sleeping and eating alone in his flat for going on two months, Ushijima away in another country halfway around the world, partaking in international matches every other day as he takes his team and Japan closer and closer to the finals. He watches their matches on the television religiously, keeping tabs on them and making sure to send Ushijima messages scattered throughout his day. He still sends suggestive photos even if there’s little to no chance Ushijima would get the hint, and Ushijima still sends him shots of the sceneries he manages to visit in between practising and partaking in matches.

 

 

One day, after a fashion show where Oikawa was recognised as the most sought out model of the season, Oikawa comes back to a huge flower arrangement in the backstage dressing room, sitting precariously on the chair that has Oikawa’s name on it. It’s bright, flourishing and fragrant in the dark backdrop of the area, and Oikawa’s fingers tremble as he feels the dewy soft texture of the petals.

“Those flowers are gorgeous, Toorucchi!” Oikawa hears, and he turns around to see one of his model friends peering at the arrangement. Oikawa smiles brightly back at the blond. “Do you know who it’s from?”

“I haven’t checked yet,” Oikawa replies, too distracted by the sheer amount of beautiful flowers bundled up just for him.

“Maybe there’s a card somewhere in there,” his other model friend comments, his hands waving around the foliage. His candy pink hair almost blends with the pleasing spectrum of the bouquet as he stoops down, looking for a message. “Found it!”

Oikawa takes the card from the other man and reads it, his friends crowding around him to get a look as well.

_Tooru,_

_Your manager has informed me of your recent accomplishment and possible nomination of being the model of the year, yet again. I am very proud of you. With your talents, you are bound to flourish wherever you go, because that is how great you are. Much like the stars you love so much, you shine so brightly, and it is just that people become mesmerised; I know I am, and have been for so many years. I do not think that will ever change._

_I have contacted your manager to have this specific flower arrangement made for you, because as much as your fans love to send you chocolates and sweets because you mention it a lot during interviews, I know you love flowers more despite the common belief that it is only for girls. The flowers here in Europe are beautiful as well, and I hope one day I’ll be able to bring you to the botanical gardens here. Maybe when the things between us have been cleared up and we can finally hold hands in the street and kiss on the dance floor like you’ve always wanted to do._

_Congratulations, again, and I love you._

_See you soon,  
Wakatoshi_

Face red and heart racing, Oikawa tunes out the excited whispers and suppressed shouts of his two friends, opting to reread the letter again.

“Guys, guys,” Oikawa croaks out, voice thick with overwhelming emotion, “Do you know the result of Japan’s game last night?” Oikawa hadn’t had the chance to check on their status, too wound up over rehearsals and fitting and mutliple interviews for several magazines.

“Ah, wait, let me check,” his friend says, fumbling with his phone. Oikawa can’t bring himself to look for his, and he doesn’t think he would be able to actually use his phone without dropping it with how much his hands shake--without Ushijima here to steady them.

“Oh my god, Toorucchi,” his friend breathes, wrapping his hands around Oikawa’s arms to shake him back to Earth, “Japan won. They’re going to the finals.”

Oikawa closes his eyes and exhales. It’s time he fights for what they have, too.

 

 

 

The moment the sound of the whistle melts into the air, and the ball has stopped bouncing on the floor like it is still feeling the force of the spike the ace had hit it with when Ushijima drove it down hard into the opponent’s side of the court, the crowd goes wild. Players decked in red and donning the national flag of Japan above their hearts shout and pump their fists in the air like a war cry. The ones at the bench have ran onto the court and jumped on Ushijima, patting him on the back and crying their praises at his winning kill.

The joy and utter satisfaction of the win renders the atmosphere in the stadium electric, and Oikawa stands with the crowd as they cheer for the win of the team, of their country. He doesn’t really know what comes over him next, making him squeeze his way through the seats and down the aisle towards the court. Maybe it was the surplus of happiness coming from everyone on his side of the stadium, or the familiar and heavily nostalgic feeling of a win overwhelming him, fuelling him to push through the crowd and head down onto the court where the national team is currently huddled. The world seemed to have been padded by cotton, muted and blurry around him as his feet lead him forward.

Oikawa meets Ushijima’s gaze the moment his foot steps on the lacquered flooring of the court, and his eyes are bright as he pushes past his fellow players, but the smile on his face directed at Oikawa is brighter. Oikawa’s cheeks hurt from all the smiling, and he almost finds himself booking the few stretches between him and Ushijima. He’s about to throw his arms around the ace’s neck, hot and sweaty he might be, when he jolts back to reality.

The loud sounds bleed back along with his consciousness, and with the shouts and cheers Oikawa manages to discern the loud shutters of cameras firing. He suddenly remembers where he is, who he is, who _Ushijima_ is, and the reality of the situation sinks in. Oikawa looks at Ushijima, who looks like he suddenly just realised the same thing he had, and froze in front of each other.

But unlike the first time this happened to them, Oikawa’s face breaks into a smile, his eyes twinkling as he looks at Ushijima--his Ushijima.

And then, National Team Ace Ushijima Wakatoshi leans over and takes Japan’s Model of the Year Oikawa Tooru into his arms, lifting him up off his feet, and leans up to capture Oikawa’s smiling mouth with his, in front of the whole stadium and media present.

This, too, feels like victory.


End file.
